Do I write a daily diary? Maybe.
Do I put in some poems? Maybe.
Do I discuss serious issues? Maybe.
Do I try to make you laugh - hopefully.....
Now an idea has surfaced - I will serialise my one and only completed novel, written at the age of 15 in 1965 which amazingly still survives in its battered yellow notebook handwritten in my own fair schoolgirl hand and full of the dreams and fantasies of those long ago years. I, of course, am the heroine and my first true love, Pete, the hero. Not that he had any part to play in the writing of this romance and I would have died more than a thousand deaths had he ever seen it!
Hope this nonsense will make you laugh and maybe bring back some memories for some!
When I wrote this I was lost in a world which I could manipulate and end up being the girl who got her man. It was deadly serious. Reading as an adult it is mainly pure comedy. Those were such times of innocence and I hope anyone chancing upon this ridiculous tale will bear with the dreams of a hopelessly romantic teenager from all those years ago.......
Touch of Bitter, Taste of Honey.
Episode One.
In Which Alice Dreams of Running Around in her Nylon Slip. Pete Feels Hot in his Parka and Miss Jenkins gets Sticky.
In Which Alice Dreams of Running Around in her Nylon Slip. Pete Feels Hot in his Parka and Miss Jenkins gets Sticky.
The mistress’s voice droned on and on unmercifully in the hazy summer afternoon, the sun beating on the warm wooden desks.
Alice looked out of the window at the freedom and blueness out there. Some girls were playing tennis and she could hear their laughter drifting slowly across the school field as if from many lazy miles away. She thought about Pete; he’d be waiting for her at the end of school for he had the day off work. Unconsciously her fingers sought the identity bracelet he had given her, which she wore under her blouse sleeve so that it would not be confiscated. The silver was warm and moist under her hot fingers and she felt the engraving lightly; ‘I Love You’.
She looked at Miss Jenkins, slumped untidily in her chair, her frizzy brown hair standing on end as usual except where it adhered to her hot, sticky forehead. Her mouth was opening and shutting like a goldfish and a stream of meaningless words flowed over the girls’ heads. Alice suddenly felt a wave of hot rebellion pass through her. Why should she sit listening to this fat, stupid woman, mechanically moving her jaws and trying to teach History. She wanted to jump up quickly before she was drowned in this woman’s atmosphere.
"Look at me!" she would shout in triumph "You won’t trap me. I’m still young and I’ve got a boy who loves me out there – we’re going to get engaged. You won’t drown me with your droning voice. I’m free! I’m free!"
Then she would jump up, throw off her heavy, unfashionable school uniform and run out of the classroom in her nylon slip, bare feet caressing the cool grass as she flew across the field. And Pete would be there waiting for her and they would run together, away from everyone, everything, until they were completely alone. Then he could love her and nothing would matter except the two of them.
The tired brown clock ticked slowly on, the two worn hands hardly moving. Miss Jenkins talked on in the sunlight as the end of school rippled nearer.
****
Alice carefully put some mascara on her long brown lashes."Meeting Pete?" asked Marilyn.
"Yeah," she replied, her mouth wide open with concentration, "he’s got the day off so we are making the most of it."
"What does he look like?" asked Penelope curiously. She was rather a brain in the form and wore socks and woolly vests. She had never heard of The Small Faces and always turned off ‘that pop rubbish’ when it came on. As for boys, she didn’t know what they were for and was rather curious to find out.
Alice looked at her, feeling a little sorry for the girl, but she answered her shortly.
"Not your type, he’s a mod."
"Oh!" Penelope said, silenced as she was no great spokesman on mods.
Marilyn laughed.
"He’d be too hot for you, Penny, eh Alice?"
"Yeah, much too hot. You wouldn’t be able to manage him." Alice replied, thinking of how he loved her.
"What’s ‘hot’?" asked the poor innocent girl. "Is it sort of – of- sexy?" The last word was uttered in a kind of conspirital whisper.
"That’s it Penny, you’re learning." replied Alice combing her blond hair.
"Oooh, tell me, what does he do? Does he try and – well you know?" enquired the girl, eyes round with expectancy.
"Yeah, I guess so." Alice called after her as she went out of the door into the sun. "Cheerio Penny, Marilyn."
She left one slightly wondering girl behind her to plague Marilyn with her endless questions while she walked in the warmth to her Pete.
She could see him in the distance, sitting on his scooter opposite the school gate. He’d really done the mods proud today, wearing pin striped trousers, a check shirt, op-art sunglasses with his hair cut short in a ‘tufty’ on the top. His parka was slung over the back seat of the blue Vespa, which proved how hot a day it was, for his parka was his second skin. She could see girls looking curiously at him, some enviously. Just ahead of her walked three mod fourth years, cheap and common looking.
"I spy with my little eye one of us," said Brenda schemingly.
"A nice one too, drop your satchel when we get to him so he can notice us. Looks hot doesn’t he?" planned one of the dyed brunettes, hitching her skirt a few inches higher.
"Oh yeah!" thought Alice grimly. With a friendly smile on her face she caught up with the girls.
"I heard your little plan" she told them. "Good idea, I quite agree with you, he’s gorgeous. He’s called Pete by the way."
"Is he?" minced Brenda trying to sway her hips. "We’re going to try and get him – look, he’s smiling at us."
"Sorry girls – at me. I got there first and I don’t mean to lose him to a fourth former." She walked over to where Pete was waiting. "I shouldn’t bother to drop your satchel, it’ll be such a waste of time picking it all up again – he’ll be gone – with me!" she called loudly over her shoulder.
The girls blushed and hurried down the road.
"What was all that?" Pete asked.
"Just dis-suading some of your fans," Alice laughed; his arms encircled her waist and she stopped laughing. He kissed her gently, after which she said it was a school rule not to kiss your boyfriends outside the school gates, but to hell with school rules. She gave him his parka which he put on lovingly, leaving it open to save being roasted alive. She got on the back and removed her school hat and then they were moving, in a cool gentle breeze amidst the shimmering heat. They passed the three fourth formers and Alice waved while Pete parped the horn. They gave the two’s up sign and then were left in their thick pool of hot air which the scooter cut through like a knife.
Alice studied Pete’s back and head. The thick warm fur round the hood of his parka with his check shirt emerging in less forested areas. His blond hair which was very nearly straight, curved gently in the wind and blew around his ears where it was trespassing as it was supposed to be parted over both ears. Her arms tightened around him and he quickly turned round to smile at her.
Ahead was a small black mini crawling along the road. Inside, crouched concentratedly over the wheel sat Miss Jenkins. The seat beside her was piled high with history books to mark. She felt hot and sticky and very uncomfortable. She also felt fat, which she always did in the warm summer.
Her car crawled past girls from school enjoying their release from school. She noticed Mary Campbell walking alone, carrying her bulging satchel. She smiled. Dear Mary was her prize pupil. She was so interested in everything to do with history and always came top in the examinations. Such a nice, pleasant girl, she thought.
Then a loud roar grew on her from behind and growled in her right ear. Startled she tore her gaze from Mary and saw a blue scooter with a strangely dressed hooligan on it. Clinging round his middle, skirt way over her knees, hair flying, no hat, was one of her pupils, Alice Greenway. Grimly she watched them vanish into the distance. Trust that girl to go around with THAT type of boy. She would have to have a serious talk with her in the morning – but the morning was Saturday so it would have to be left till Monday. Miss Jenkins crawled miserably on in a sticky pool of sweat.
Could not all go smoothly first time could it?? For some reason the 'to be continued' and following sentence ended up in the wrong place - should be down here with Miss Jenkins. Never mind, sure you can work that one out.....
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